Someone?s having a baby! It?s not, not, not me.
It started with one vivid dream last month. On what may very well have been the anniversary of the date I found out baby two was on board (roughly a week after our firstborn?s first birthday) I dreamt of pregnancy.
?We?re going to have a baby,? my dream-self told the dream-husband with a rub to the expecting abdomen. ?It?ll be a girl. It?s OK,? I said with ethereal calm ? the antithesis of what my real life reaction would have been.
A week later I had another dream.
?It?s going to be a girl,? I told a friend with her hand pressed against my belly. The baby kicked. ?My mom will be so happy, she?s always wanted to buy tights and tutus.?
The kick felt real. The sentiment was entirely too true.
I woke shaken, entirely annoyed at the dream daring to have reoccurred. How dare it! ?My uterus is unoccupied and I like it that way,? I thought with a juvenile foot stomp to the ground. ?I stare at BabyCenter all day,? I reasoned with a shake of my head. ?It?s got to be normal pregnancy would pop up in my dreams.?
Saturday morning brought forth a pair of early morning, rain-soaked soccer games for our 8 and 6-year-old sons. We shivered and cheered, then rushed home to take hot showers. With the kids warm and dry, watching a mid-day movie, I snuck off for a cat nap.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my [front] door.
By the time I?d awoken and gotten my feet under me they were gone. On the stoop sat this:
?Oh, hell no,? I muttered, jerking the offending flowers quickly inside, lest any of the neighbors see.
CONGRATULATIONS ON THE NEW BABY!, the card screamed after I hastily tore it open.
What?! Am I even awake? Who baby what? I thought through haze. Sleep slithered off of me in record pace.
Brushing off questions from my two sons about the strange vase and flower arrangement, I looked with renewed eyes at the card:
ATTN: STODDARD
24HOURFLORISTS
Customer service is our #1 goal. If we ever fail to meet your expectations, please let us know.
***Add lukewarm water daily ***
Stoddard. ?Stoddard!? I let out with a quiet gasp. Those folks whose mail I keep getting.
Suddenly, all became clear. We moved over the summer, and as far as I can imagine, the Stoddards lived here previously. I only knew they had 2-year-old twins, but perhaps another joy (or two) is to be celebrated. Sense made. Action initiated.
?Hello, 24 Hour Florists? You delivered to a family that no longer lives at this home. Please come pick up. Tomorrow? Great. Thank you.?
No florists arrive. None the next day, nor the one after. Brobee does not approve. I do not approve.
B-A-B-Y vase and I sit through yet another workday, staring each other down. I begin to count the ways I?m thankful I?m not, in fact, pregnant despite the universe?s nagging at my uterus:
Day 3 of B-A-B-Y vase-gate, the husband decides there?s humor to be had. ?Congradulations!!? the wishes pour in (yes, seriously) in response to a photo of despised gift shared with little explanation on Facebook. My uterus blushes, then cringes?and lastly rebels.
?Oh, hell no!!? the fingers type in direct command from the baby making parts without passing by the thought department.
Laughter ensues. Friends get it. I, perhaps, haven?t lost my mind.
If you?re out there reading, Stoddard family, congratulations. You know where to find your flowers.
Have you ever suffered pregnancy paranoia? Please commiserate!
Photos: Sara McGinnis
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